Page 117 of Faking the Goal

His hand slowly drops.

"Lewis."

Nope.

Not today, Satan.

"Wait up."

I keep walking.

His footsteps follow behind me, but I don't bother looking back. A few students glance our way as I pass, probably wondering why Ridgewater's star goalie is following me across campus.

Let them wonder.

Then the ground suddenly tilts beneath my feet.

I stumble, blinking hard as a wave of dizziness hits me. Fuck. I knew I felt like shit, but—

"Lewis, are you okay?"

Black spots crowd my vision until I can only see pieces of the sidewalk between them.

I try to take another step but my knees fold instead.

"Lewis!"

I don't even feel myself hit the ground before everything goes black.

My eyes slowly flutter open, and I spend the next few seconds staring at a ceiling I don't recognize while my brain struggles to catch up.

Everything fucking hurts. My muscles ache, my joints ache, and my head is pounding so badly I can practically feel my pulse behind my eyes.

Where the hell am I?

I look around, still too groggy to make sense of anything, then try to sit up. Even that takes more effort than it should, and I'm barely upright when the door opens.

I turn too quickly and immediately regret it when pain throbs through my skull.

"Jesus..."

I press my fingers against my temple before squinting toward the door.

Kentaro's carrying a glass of water and a white plastic bag, and seeing him standing there finally makes everything around me click into place.

Oh, fuck me.

I'm at the hockey house.

More specifically, I'm in his bedroom.

Because apparently waking up sick as hell wasn't punishment enough today.

"Glad you're awake," he says, coming toward me.

"Why am I here?"

"You passed out."